


Le Mignon

by havisham



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassination Attempt(s), Complicated Relationships, First Meetings, Historical Fantasy, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Kings & Queens, Love/Hate, Loyalty, M/M, The Favourite 2: This Time It's Dicks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 10:48:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22354975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: After his brother's sudden death, Éloi is thrust into a role he is not suited for -- that of the king of his powerful but fractious country. As he comes into his own, Éloi learns that king he may be, but universally beloved he is not -- that role is filled by Amaury, his favourite -- a man Éloi both loves and hates.
Relationships: King with Low Popular Approval Ratings/Universally Liked Male Royal Favourite (OW), Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 20
Kudos: 110
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Le Mignon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prinzenhasserin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prinzenhasserin/gifts).



**I.**

It was better to be loved than to love, Éloi’s mother had once told him. She had paused from combing his long, black hair and said, a little ruefully, “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that. Éloi, strike it from your mind.” But of course, he could not. He turned his mother’s stray observation around in his mind, but he could not understand its logic until long afterwards. 

Éloi was the second son of the King, a superfluous child who had been given over to his mother to raise in general seclusion, away from the court. Later, the rumor would be that he was virtually raised as a girl, but that was not quite true. If he tripped along in dresses for longer than other boys his age, it was simply because he did not grow as fast. Once he was old enough to be presented to his father, the King, he was dressed as a young prince — which indeed he was. 

That there was no love lost between the King and the Queen was common knowledge — their alienation had begun at the moment of their marriage and persisted through their entire lives. Alienation soon led to separation, and as a result, Éloi met his father and his older brother, the Dauphin, the same day that he was first presented at court. 

He did not expect the two of them to fall on his neck and embrace him, but the coldness of their reception hurt him. He would later write to his mother, asking her to give him leave to return home. 

_Both my honored father and revered brother have no use for me_ , he wrote, _and I know that soon it will be fall and the passes will close. Will you not recall your poor son to the place where he is most welcomed?_

His mother wrote back telling him that despite her own wishes, she could not do that. _You must make a friend at court,_ she wrote, _someone trustworthy and brave — someone who will love you sincerely._

It was around this time that Éloi met Amaury for the first time. 

There was a gaggle of boys waiting for the swordmaster to come in. Éloi approached them cautiously. He was scheduled to take a lesson with the swordmaster, but was dismayed to see that he would have an audience. But soon, he realized the boys weren’t there for him; they were watching another boy who was dueling with the swordmaster — and winning. 

“Who is that?” Éloi asked one of the boys, a lanky blond with sleepy brown eyes. The boy, whose name was Cyprien, looked at him narrowly before launching into a fervid description of the other boy’s accomplishments. He was the duc d’Amaury, the last scion of a great but impoverished family. He was the same age as the Dauphin, and had been his friend, but had quarreled with the prince just the other day — 

Here, Cyprien paused and Amaury won the duel. Éloi stepped forward to congratulate him. Amaury took his offered hand and the touch between them was like a lightning strike. Amaury was sixteen or seventeen, two years older than Éloi, and he was magnetic. 

“You are the unknown prince, Éloi? I have long wished to meet you,” said Amaury pleasantly. Éloi stuttered out his own greeting and acknowledged that he was that young man. He was distracted. Amaury’s eyes were very green, like the deepest part of the forest, like envy, and the jewels on his father’s crown. 

“Hardly unknown,” Éloi said, frowning. “I was christened in front of everyone.”

“But hardly seen since,” Amaury said. “But come, let’s see what you can do.”

Éloi was a competent swordsman — he had been trained since he was young. But he had learned it all in a country manor and there was no one there as good as Amaury. Soon enough, Éloi made a mistake and was sent sprawling onto the dusty ground. A ripple of amusement went through the crowd. 

“You did well for your first time,” Amaury said, offering Éloi his hand. Éloi ignored it and pushed himself up.

“I don’t need you to condescend to me,” Éloi said hotly. Amaury’s eyebrow quirked and he agreed this was so — with an ironic twist of his mouth.

*

Despite his mother’s advice, Éloi’s first few months at court were lonely and miserable ones. He knew that he badly needed allies, but he was proud, standoffish — and shy. At home, everyone knew him and understood that. But here, in his father’s sprawling court, which seemed to house people of every sort under the sun, Éloi felt as if he was absolutely nothing.

The general opinion seemed to be against him. He was superfluous, unnecessary and disliked. To his young mind, this rejection felt horrible. He wondered what was wrong with him that people seemed to take against him so.

His elder brother, the Dauphin, did not seem to have this trouble. Yves was handsome and charming — he possessed all the confidence in the world. When Yves said that something should be done, all would rush to do it. Like now, when he had decided to lead a hunt deep into the forest that surrounded the palace.

Until a generation ago, the palace itself had been merely a royal hunting lodge; the forest was ancient and haunted, and the rumors were that werewolves still stalked along the shadows of the trees. More prosaic reports had wild boars that ravaged the King’s deer, unafraid of the huntsmen’s spears. Nonetheless, the forest was a place of attraction and danger — the Dauphin’s favorite place. 

Éloi had been requested to accompany his brother. According to tradition, he was required to ride just behind the Dauphin, but with the long train of favourites and friends, he found himself pushed more and more to the back until he was riding with the rest. He thought of turning back to the palace, but hesitated. That course of action would not go over well with his detractors… 

With a sigh, Éloi dismounted and tied his horse to a tree. He knew that the hunting party would soon break for luncheon — and that, he would have to be present for, if only to be the target of the Dauphin’s witticisms. But for now, he closed his eyes and leaned against the tree. 

“Hunting does not please you, your royal highness?” 

Éloi did not need to open his eyes to know who posed that question to him. “It pleases me very well, Amaury. But I require some time for peace and quiet for myself.” He heard the jangle of Amaury’s reins as he dismounted. 

“Peace and quiet? Are you not a young man?”

“Most people seek to flatter royalty, not insult them, you know.” Éloi opened his eyes and looked at Amaury critically. 

Amaury laughed. “Indeed? Do you see that as an insult?”

“What else could it be?” Éloi asked. 

“I would wish to speak to you honestly, if I could,” Amaury said earnestly. “I do not think other people would seek that — for royalty or anyone higher than themselves.” 

“So you do concede that we are higher than you. I had heard rumors that dispute that.” 

Amaury looked down. He was a well-made youth, tall and broad. When fully-grown, he would cut a powerful figure. Éloi, who was slim and dark, envied him for that. “My family is dispossessed, but I do not seek a higher office for myself. I see my future as that of a soldier, first and foremost.” 

Éloi frowned, at a loss as to what to say. He turned his head and realized that the quiet of the forest had ended. The barks and cries of the hounds were coming towards them. 

“The hunting party shouldn’t have looped back here so soon,” he said with a frown. Amaury nodded, his eyes narrowing. One of the outriders came streaking past, although one did stop when Amaury flagged him down. 

“What’s the matter? Why is your companion riding at such speed to the palace?” 

“It is the Dauphin,” said the rider, who Éloi recognized as a nobleman named Calixte. “He has been knocked down and trampled by a boar.” 

Éloi cried out in horror while Amaury reached out and gripped his hand. Rapidly, he thanked Calixte for his information and bid him to go on. When the man had left, Amaury turned to Éloi and said, “Dear Prince, you must ride quickly to the palace and find your father. Whatever should happen to the Dauphin now, your father must see that you are there, ready to do your duty.” 

“Do you think my brother will die?” Éloi asked, his voice shaking. Amaury shrugged. 

“It depends on the extent of his injuries. But you must act right _now_.” 

Éloi could see the logic of his words. But before he left, mounted on his horse and looking down at Amaury, Éloi could not resist asking, “Why are you helping me?” 

Amaury gave him a pitying look. “Because you need it more than others do.” 

As he rode away, his heart in his mouth, Éloi knew that Amaury’s words were true. Gratitude and resentment dug under his skin, never to let go. 

**II.**

There was a certain time in the day when the sunlight streamed into the west-facing windows and elevated the gold, the glass, the polished wood of the palace, so that it became the home of the gods rather than human beings. 

But then, in a blink of an eye, that time passed. Éloi shifted his position and his lover groaned underneath him. He said, “You have that faraway look in your eyes — am I not enough to occupy you?” 

Éloi grinned down at Amaury. “Perhaps you aren’t — ” Amaury thrust into him harder, making him gasp. “Take it as a lesson.” 

Amaury pushed himself up and kissed Éloi’s throat, and wrapped his arms around his waist. Éloi shuddered, brimming with happiness. It seemed possible that together, they would be able to recapture the golden hour — save for the knock at the door. 

“Sire,” called Sixte, the royal steward. “Forgive the interruption, but your evening appointment requires — ” 

“I understand,” Éloi said loudly. “Give me five minutes and I’ll be with you.” 

“Duty calls,” Amaury said, relinquishing his hold. Éloi gave him a wry look and pulled himself away from Amaury’s cock. He would have to submit himself to his evening toilette soon enough, but it would not do to present himself to his servants with his lover’s seed running down his leg. 

“Attend to me,” he told Amaury. “It’s the least you can do.” 

Amaury did as he requested — he did not always have to argue, after all. 

*

Éloi had been king for five years now, upon the death of his father. He had been crowned by his mother and had hoped that she would go with him to court, but the Dowager Queen insisted on splitting her time between her country retreat and the court. He did not totally resent her for this decision — if Éloi could retreat to the country, he would certainly do so. 

He was not a popular king — every new reform he proposed to better the lives of his ordinary subjects outraged the nobles, and every time he gave concessions to the nobles, it wasn’t enough. He was, perhaps, the most unpopular king still to have his head on the continent. 

His father had been carried off to an early grave by a fit of apoplexy. His funeral had been extravagant and very well attended. The people had loved him, and nobles still sang his praises. 

Éloi sighed and touched his neck. He wanted to keep his head, but he didn’t know how to engender love from his subjects. When he had quizzed his mother and father about it, neither had been able to articulate what he could do — besides his duty, and doing it well. 

Now, Amaury on the other hand… Éloi sighed as he let his head dip under the warm water. His acknowledged favourite was almost universally liked. The times when Éloi was obliged to send Amaury off to war — for he was a very competent commander — a gloom would settle over the court, one that could only be lifted when Amaury returned, fresh from his victories. 

If Éloi was a more jealous lover, or a worse king, he thought he would forbid Amaury from going to war, for every time he returned, his stature only grew. In truth, it made no sense — in the history of the world, very few favourites could be said to be popular or well-beloved. To be a favourite was to be hated by your fellows, as any reading monarch would know. If a favourite did not lose favour and fade away, they were likely to be assassinated, banished, or made to disappear. 

And yet for ten years — since the death of the Dauphin — Amaury had climbed the social ladder as easily as if it were a wide and spacious staircase, and with a gracious hand, offered to help Éloi up as well. 

Éloi loved him. But he also hated him. 

As soon as his bath finished, Éloi rose from the water and was sprayed delicately with a cloud of perfume, which was the king’s personal blend, called _Aqua Angeli_ — a mix of rosewater, jasmine, orange-blossom and a few grains of musk. 

After dressing for dinner, the elaborate ceremony began, each step as familiar as the one before. Éloi would walk through rooms upon rooms, greeting his subjects, favoring one with a smile or a nod, gracing another with some dredged-up recollection, and cutting others dead without really meaning to. 

The end of the evening meant sitting at a card table with the highest nobles in the land, pretending to be interested in the game at hand.

“Sire,” said Athénaïs, the court’s most witty and conniving beauty. That was no mark against her—all around her played the game, but Athénaïs, a blonde Venus if there ever was one, just played better than most. “I am surprised at your small wager tonight. You must bring up the stakes as the Comte de Cyprien is not here to entertain us.” 

“Yes, Cyprien has been missing from the gambling tables more and more. I do wonder what has happened to him. I hope I will be an adequate replacement.” 

“That’s my hope as well,” said Athénaïs. “So why do you hesitate?” 

“Madame, you must know that when I gamble, I do so with the fates of thousands. Can you blame me for being cautious?”

“Cautious, no, conservative, yes,” said Athénaïs, her pretty face flushing. “But dear me, your majesty is certainly in a serious mood tonight.”

“That makes it sound like a departure,” said Amaury, who appeared at Éloi’s shoulder. He dipped down and whispered in his ear, a warm breath tickling at his curls. “There is an urgent matter at hand. Will you come with me?”

Éloi rose from his table and pushed out all of the money he had meant to wager for the night — the sum equal to the annual tax of a large estate in the south — and said, “I must quit the table for the night, but please play a little more for me.”

Athénaïs led the clapping and cheers, but Éloi saw at once that his gesture was not totally appreciated. Could he not have given more? If he was to stop so suddenly, why start at all? It was impossible to please them. 

As Amaury led him away, Éloi said, “I don’t suppose you rescued me from all of that just to seduce me in the closest antechamber.”

“Alas, no,” said Amaury; he touched a gilded wall panel on his right and a secret door popped open. They went down a steep staircase, only fitfully lit by torches. Down they went, until they emerged into a lofty but bare chamber, completely unlike the beautiful upper rooms of the palace. 

The chief of Éloi’s secret police greeted them and presented a bound and gagged man to them. He was, they were told, a minor noble from the north who had been caught slipping poison into the king’s favorite wine.

“I drank wine tonight,” Éloi said, taken aback. 

“It never reached you,” said the chief of the secret police. “He was apprehended as soon as he did the deed.” 

“Who’s responsible for this? A man so insignificant could not possibly come so close to the king without help,” Amaury demanded. “Ungag him and make him say.”

But even ungagged, the man would not say. Instead, he looked at Éloi with dark, despairing eyes. He knew his life was at an end.

“Tell us the truth and your life will be spared,” Éloi said. “You have my word as the King.”

“I-I do not know,” said the wretched man. “I never saw them. I am sorry — they threatened my family. I have never had cause to resent you, sire.”

“And yet you sought to end his life instead of seeking protection from the crown,” said Amaury. “As all loyal subjects would do in your position.” 

“Give him the most secure cell, until he chooses to give up his compatriots,” Éloi said. “He will enjoy our mercy until he is ready to talk.”

As Éloi and Amaury walked away, the doomed man called out, “Sire, your life is in danger! Look around you!”

The chief of the secret police silenced him, and Éloi and Amaury took their leave with promises that they would be informed of any changes. 

“My life has been in danger since I was fourteen years old,” Éloi said to Amaury as they climbed up the stairs back to the grand salon. Amaury took his hand and kissed the ring of state. 

“We will keep you safe,” he promised.

“ _They_ didn’t keep my brother safe,” Éloi replied.

“He was a brash youth who would not take the proper care — I do not mean to speak ill of the dead, but you are nothing like him.”

“We spent only our very first years together, before our parents separated. I remember nothing about him except that he was bright and bold. Everyone loved him.”

“You are loved by those who matter.”

“You?”

“I, and everyone who can see your myriad of virtues.” Amaury pressed himself against Éloi, letting the rough wall ruin his velvet jacket. 

“I liked it better when you didn’t have to lie to me,” Éloi said, ruefully. 

“I don’t lie,” Amaury told him, and such was the strength of his conviction that Éloi believed him.

*

“What about this one?” The Queen presented a miniature of a demure-looking young woman who peered shyly out of her gilt frame. They were sitting in the Queen’s lesser parlor for afternoon tea, and suddenly the Queen had brought forth an ivory box filled with miniatures of all the still unmarried princesses and archduchesses on the continent. 

“Isn’t her father also her uncle?” Éloi said skeptically.

“Her half-cousin,” said the Queen, exasperated. “It almost doesn't count. Your father and I were double-first cousins, you know.”

“You also hated each other,” Éloi said.

“It was not because of our shared blood. If you would prefer to go farther afield for your bride, I do not mind it — certainly, there are many foreign princesses who would be eager to make an alliance with us. But Éloi, my dear…”

“I am only twenty-four, maman,” Éloi said helplessly. “Not impotent and gout-footed yet.”

“Ordinary men do not need to worry about their potency so young, but princes and kings have other worries. You need an heir — and another, to see our dynasty safe.”

“Yes, imagine the disaster if you had not submitted to have another child with your hated cousin. The crown would have reverted back to — who was it?”

“Your great-uncle’s eldest grandson — who _is_ impotent and gout-footed. How about this one?” The Queen took out another miniature, this one of a robust-looking princess who resembled Athénaïs very strongly.

“I had the pleasure of seeing that princess last year,” Amaury said, appearing at Éloi’s arm. “The artist is very talented but not devoted to naturalism, I fear.”

“Sir, you are very forthright with your opinions. I am not sure if it is warranted, however.”

“Maman, Amaury is only joking. See, I’m moderately attractive, sane and can keep my tongue in my head most of the time — but none of that _matters_ when it comes to royal marriages. It is the same for this princess here.” 

“He’s not a good influence on you,” the Queen said quietly. Amaury said nothing, but his smile grew wider — if possible. 

“I disagree,” Éloi said brightly. 

“At least consider them,” said the Queen as she took her leave. She kissed her son’s cheek and wished Amaury a good day.

As soon as she had left, Éloi turned to Amaury and beckoned him to sit next to him. He demanded, “Why do you antagonize my mother? You may be universally liked, but my mother can hardly tolerate you and that is all the more reason you should make peace.”

“I think she likes me,” Amaury replied. “For any other person, the Queen would have had them removed — perhaps by the hair.”

“My mother would not do such a thing,” Éloi said. “She would cut you to the quick instead.” 

“Perhaps literally — was she not an accomplished swordswoman in her day?”

“I don’t really want to speak of my mother right now,” Éloi said and leaned in to kiss Amaury, running his hand through his wavy, auburn hair. It was such a lovely color— and rare. “Unless you wish to continue…?”

Amaury did not reply and kissed him back, biting at Éloi’s lips for a moment. They shared a smile and Amaury went down on his knee, undoing Éloi’s breeches with the speed of an expert. 

“Ah,” Éloi muttered as Amaury licked his cock. Amaury stopped for a moment to grin against Éloi’s groin. He waited for a few long moments. “Keep going, damn you.” 

“What’s the incentive?” Amaury said, pressing a delicate kiss on the tip of Éloi’s cock. 

Éloi grabbed a handful of Amaury’s hair and said sweetly, “Is the love of your king not enough?” 

Amaury did not reply — he didn’t have to. When the door began to open, Éloi took off one of his high-heeled shoes and threw it at the door. It made a suitable bang and the door remained closed until the matter was finished. 

*

Éloi walked through the gardens of the palace with Athénaïs at his side and a column of followers. Sometimes it felt as if they were all a part of a giant clockwork, mechanically going along on their gears. Every step they took was anticipated and predestined. In despair, Éloi cast his eyes heavenward and noticed a smudge of darkness that marred the perfect blue sky.

Something was moving at great speed — it did not seem like a bird in flight. The realization hit him a few moments before the projectile did. He shoved Athénaïs away and shouted for the others to scatter. In the confusion and chaos, a shell fell on them with a violent burst of soil and gravel.

In the immediate aftermath, Éloi shook loose dirt and dust from his jacket and went over to where Athénaïs lay, dazed on the ground. “Are you all right?”

“Am I dead?” she asked and then sat up with a gasp. “Did anyone see up my petticoats?”

“You must be all right if you can joke,” said Éloi wryly. He helped her up and she looked at him, her blue eyes, usually as sleepy as a cat’s, widened. 

“Your majesty…” She pulled a now rather soiled handkerchief out of a pocket in her dress and offered it to him. “Your face —”

Éloi took Athénaïs’ proffered cloth and dabbed his face. When he looked at it, he was surprised to see it dotted with blood. “Will it scar, do you think?”

“Surely not,” Athénaïs replied as the guards and courtiers, and even some doctors and nurses, fell upon them, ready to treat — or gawk at — the wounded and bewildered.

*

“They were testing out the fireworks for tonight’s entertainment when one of them strayed and hit your group. The supervisor of the fireworks, Machard, claims that he had no idea how the projectile could have come so near the king. He has been arrested, of course, but his story hasn’t changed. It is possible that it could have been an accident.”

“An accident?” Éloi said, disbelievingly. “Amaury, talk sense. Someone sent that thing directly at me. If I had been looking in any other direction, I would be dead — and so would Madame de Athénaïs.”

“And what a pity that would be,” Amaury said. “Public sympathy overwhelms her now. She seeks to be your official mistress, you know.”

“If I were an ordinary king, she would already have that position. But, Amaury! Can you really call it an accident?”

“No,” Amaury said coldly. “Someone is clearly trying to kill you, sire.”

Éloi shook his head. “I knew I was unpopular, but I didn’t think it would get so bad. Two attempts at my life within a month of each other…”

“We will find out who did this, I promise you,” Amaury said. He moved against Éloi and kissed his cheek before pulling away. Éloi pulled him closer, not letting him go. It was late at night and all the doors were locked. It was safe. He would not allow Amaury to get away now.

“What did you think had happened when you heard the news?” Éloi asked him. “You were away from the palace, were you not?”

“Yes, the retainer from my estates had come and he is too uncouth to be hosted here. I met him in the city — the news was slow in reaching me about what happened. I heard that there were casualties.”

“Only minor ones. Whoever aimed the projectile was not a good shot.”

“They are unpredictable. It is not so much aiming as it is directing it to a certain area along the lines. I have seen their work on the battlefield — the sight of it never leaves you.”

“Are you angry that I recalled you from war?” Éloi watched Amaury’s face closely. His question only seemed a non sequitur — but his lover had enough wit to know that.

“No sane man would resent being called back from war, my king. I was grateful for the opportunity to serve you and glad to be recalled.”

“A most diplomatic answer. Perhaps the next time I send you out, I will not even have to equip you with a sword or musket.”

Amaury made a face and said, “You have too much faith in my abilities.”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Nonetheless. Today, I was not even there to protect you — to put my body in front of yours. I cannot imagine what would have happened if you hadn’t seen the thing coming to you.”

Éloi caressed Amaury’s face, his hand lingering on the latter’s oft-laconic mouth. “My great-uncle’s eldest grandson would never appreciate your handsome face as much as I do.”

Amaury scowled at him. “Be serious, Éloi.”

“Using my given name? That is intimate. I don’t know if I like it,” Éloi said teasingly. “I don’t think of you as Armand. I’m not fond of that name.”

“Then call me by my full title, not just my family name. You never do — not to anyone. I understand that everyone is beneath you, but —”

“Have you always resented me thus?”

“I’m not speaking out of resentment. We have tried to understand each other, haven’t we?”

Éloi sighed and turned over onto his bed. He stretched out his arms with an expansive but frustrated gesture. “I thought I would get fucked out of my mind tonight. I was almost killed! But we’re arguing instead — how disappointing.” 

“I’m not much of a comforting presence,” Amaury said with a smile. “But I live to serve you.”

Éloi stilled for a moment. “Do you really? Prove it. Upon your honor as the duc d’Amaury.”

“So you do know my title.”

“All twelve of them, as well your seven names.”

“It’s not something to brag about — we’ve known each other for ten years now? I knew about you long before I met you.”

“Did you pin your hopes on me even back then, dear?”

“Yes,” Amaury said, kissing his hand. 

Éloi pressed a thumb into his mouth and felt the slight pressure of teeth against it. If he had been a better person — a better king — Éloi would not stoop to teasing Amaury in that way. But he loved it dearly, and he could not resist.

“I think I will have you tonight, my darling.” When he had withdrawn his finger from Amaury’s mouth, he sighed and wiped it off on the bedsheets. “Will you get yourself ready for me?”

“Why do you ask when you know that I will?”

Éloi smiled. “Because I enjoy it.”

“This is the true Éloi,” Amaury said, throwing himself out of bed to get a jar of the numbing balm that they favored. “Not that timid virgin that everyone assumes you are — but a bold slut.”

“Do they really think me a virgin? Yes, work yourself open.” 

Amaury climbed back into the bed and lapsed into silence as he readied himself. When Éloi reached for him, he was waved off.

“Of course they do,” Amaury said, his color high. “You’ve never taken a mistress, you’ve never lost your head over anyone. To an observer, you seem completely untouched and — ah — pure.”

“You know better,” Éloi said triumphantly. He wrapped his arms around Amaury, and kissed the scars that crisscrossed his chest. He hated those scars and the war that had made them. The guilt that seeing them caused roiled his stomach. 

Amaury grabbed his chin and tilted his face upwards. “Don’t you dare.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Éloi replied. “You’re taking too long, I’ll do it. I long to be inside you.”

But Amaury said that he was already well-prepared and straddled Éloi and stroked him to full hardness. There was a gleam of competition in his green eyes as he lowered himself onto Éloi’s cock.

It was almost too much to bear. Éloi gasped involuntarily and grasped Amaury by his thighs to pull him closer. If he could mold the two of them into one creature, he would do so. He always enjoyed it when Amaury fucked him— his lover did it so well — but it was another realm of pleasure when he could take Amaury.

“I love you the most,” Éloi murmured as he thrust into Amaury. Amaury gave him a breathless laugh and looped his arms around Éloi’s neck.

“You’re — the only one I love —”

That was better than being loved by everyone, Éloi reflected — being loved by the person everyone loved.

**III.**

There was a crowd shouting his name and calling for him to come amongst them. Éloi wished to stop the carriage in order to wave. He had no desire to attend his great-uncle’s eldest grandson’s funeral, especially on a beautiful day like this. His second cousin had died with no legitimate issue, and thus his entire estate lapsed back to the crown. It was a very good day indeed.

Amaury did not want the carriage to stop. “We have intercepted a letter that seemed to link the man who wished to poison you with the Comte de Cyprien. Who knows what other danger you may be in — don’t add to it.”

“So arrest him. I should speak to my subjects like this more often — pure and unmediated.” Éloi gave the sign he wanted to stop, and so began the lengthy process of setting up a spontaneous royal visit. 

Both he and Amaury were silent, looking out of the window. The town they had stopped at was the midpoint between the palace and the city — royal visits were not unknown here. The mayor hurried over to talk to the captain of the King’s Guard, shaking his grey head like a dog loosening water from its ears.

“Why was Juste involved?” Éloi asked. “I have given him so much over the years. What use would it have been to kill me?”

“Some men are just greedy, sire. His gambling debts alone — someone could have bought them and used them as leverage.”

Éloi looked over at Amaury and frowned. “Amaury, you have an answer for everything. Did I tell you —”

He was interrupted by a knock on the carriage glass. His public waited. 

It was, frankly, rare that a crowd of commoners would shout his name like that. Éloi could only assume that the recent lessening in the wheat taxation that he had advocated had brought some new prosperity in the town. In any case, he enjoyed the attention, though when Amaury got out of the carriage to follow him, a whisper ran through the crowd and a man emerged from it to call Amaury’s name.

“Sir, do you remember me?” he asked. “I served under you during the northern battle when we set fire to the tulip-fields.” 

Amaury’s eyes lit up. “Are you not Corporal Hermès? I do remember you — you were a brave and bold man.”

“Thank you sir! You flatter me — I have never seen your like anywhere.” Corporal Hermès turned to the crowd and shouted, “Why do we not hail a hero of the country? Let us praise the duc d’Amaury!”

Amaury glanced over at Éloi, who smiled back at him encouragingly. The shouting switched over easily from Éloi’s name to Amaury and there seemed to be more people there.

Éloi was wondering when it would stop when someone pushed through the barricade and stumbled into him. He was ready to forgive the slight lèse-majesté when he felt a sick wetness against his stomach. 

He looked at the man in disbelief. He was a ragged old man with patchy skin. Through the dirt and grime, Éloi saw that he was wearing an old military uniform. The man looked back at him with triumph in his eyes.

Amaury pushed the man back and, seeing what had happened, unsheathed his sword and killed him. One moment he was living, the next, he was dead. 

Then Amaury turned and shouted, “Make way for the king, make way! And call a doctor! Where is the nearest inn?”

Through the confusion and terror of the crowd, Éloi leaned against Amaury. Something about this day reminded him of another. “It was you, wasn’t it?” His voice was so soft that no one but Amaury could hear him. “I’m going to die soon so you must tell me the truth. It was a day like this when you killed my brother, wasn’t it?”

Amaury looked at him. There was something pitiless but loving in his eyes. “Yes,” he said. “A day just like this.”

*

Éloi woke up in the best room of the local inn with a tightly bandaged stomach and a splitting headache. When the doctors realized he was awake, his room began to fill up — his mother was there weeping, and so, oddly, was Athénaïs. There were so many people here. Most of them ought to go away.

“Where is Amaury?” Éloi demanded. “I am to exile him.”

“He has gone to arrest the Comte de Cyprien. Why are you going to exile him?” the Queen asked.

“I must. He’ll understand why,” Éloi replied before he sank back into a deep, dreamless sleep.

*

The wheels of justice moved quickly. The Comte de Cyprien was destined for the executioner, though he protested his innocence at every step. None could believe it. His guilt was obvious. There were letters linking him to the poisoner. The fireworks had originated in his area. The man who had stabbed Éloi had come from one of Cyprien’s estates.

However, the reason for the duc d’Amaury’s exile was less clear. Rumors had it that he was being punished for failing to protect his king, or otherwise, he was merely fulfilling the fate of every favourite — either exile or death.

“You are to be exiled,” Éloi said at the official audience announcing Amaury’s sentence. His stomach ached, feeling the still-fresh wound. He ignored it. “For a period of no less than two years. You may settle your affairs and then go east, north or south — the decision is yours. Do you accept the terms of your exile, Armand?”

Amaury bowed. “I accept every condition you set before me, your royal highness, and moreover, I do it with all the love in my heart.”

Éloi glared at him. “So be it.”

Amaury winked at him before going, annoying Éloi further. “You have a week to leave!” 

*

It was three years and six months before Amaury returned to the palace. He brought him a dazed-looking man of approximately fifty, with fingers that were permanently stained with paint. “Master Cassini has studied under some of the greatest painters of the century, and he kindly agreed to come abroad with me to see new sights and paint new people.”

“Welcome to our court, Master Cassini,” Éloi said graciously. He gestured to the footman who would be able to conduct Cassini to his room. Crates of his artistic supplies had to be carried in by more footmen. 

Both Éloi and Amaury watched the scene before them, before Éloi turned to his lover and said, “You’re late and you’ve taken an Italian painter as a hostage?” 

The murmuring of the fountain almost drowned their conversation, but barely. Éloi knew the crowd behind him was itching to get closer to Amaury. He put a hand on Amaury’s shoulder for a moment, before he let it drop. 

“Hardly late,” Amaury said. “You didn’t say I had to return just as soon as my exile ended.” 

“I thought you would return contrite and reflective.”

“I am all those things,” Amaury assured him. “Very contrite and appropriately reflective of my sins.” 

“Liar. I hope for your sake Master Cassini paints sublimely.”

“He does.” Amaury looked amused. “His specialty is portraits. I’m hoping he can paint us together — if you wish it, of course.”

“I will have to see his work, of course,” Éloi said. “To see if he’s any good…” 

Amaury only smiled, supremely confident.

*

Cassini _was_ an excellent painter — but also a very strict master of his studio. Not only were his models obliged not to move, but he also discouraged talking or breathing too visibly. Éloi was quite used to posing for portraits, to affixing an expression of absent benevolence — no matter what the pose should be. 

For days, he and Amaury sat together in virtual silence — Amaury looking at him, and Éloi looking at Cassini, or, eventually, towards the audience. He wondered what meaning, if any, a future viewer would take from the finished painting. What would they see? Just a king and his favourite, mute and lifeless across the span of countless years. 

If it all survived so long as that. 

“I missed you,” Amaury said, his lips hardly moving. “Truly, I did. It was not an easy choice to stay away, but I thought it would be for the best…” 

“There is something wrong with me, I think,” Éloi admitted in a low voice. “Nothing I do can make anyone truly happy. Why do you think that is? It’s been true since I was young.” 

“You can’t expect me to agree. You’ve made me happy.” 

“I exiled you.” 

“I saw beautiful places and people because of it. For that, I’m grateful to you.” 

Éloi frowned and turned to look at Amaury. “Don’t lie.” 

“My lord, your majesty,” said Cassini, “please do not move so much. Once I am finished with the base, I will dismiss you until the end.” 

“I suppose I should congratulate you on your marriage too,” Amaury said after a long while. “And not even to a cousin of yours. You have done well.” 

“Do shut up,” Éloi said sharply. “I’m sure she’ll prefer you to me as well.” 

Perhaps, before, Amaury would have laughed or dismissed Éloi’s comments. But this time he merely pressed his lips together and looked at his king with eyes both sad and speculative.

“I can’t control it, you know.” 

“I know,” Éloi replied. He had had enough time to realize that, and still he was torn between desiring and repelling. He suspected that he would always feel this way. “Even so, I am glad you came back. It feels good to be alone with you. Or almost alone.” 

Amaury broke his pose and took Éloi’s hand and kissed it. 

And Cassini, instead of losing his temper, muttered something to himself and said loudly, “Well, _hold_ that pose then.” 

*

The portrait, once unveiled, caused such a sensation at court that Éloi determined that it could not be displayed in the hall of portraits. Rather, it would be hung in his private apartments. 

“Well, I quite like it,” Athénaïs said, during the unveiling. She took a sip of champagne and said, idly, “It is quite a display of patriotic fervor. Don’t you think so, Orienne?” 

Orienne, the new Queen, agreed shyly. “I do believe such displays of devotion can inspire others to go to such lengths. It is sad, then, that more people should not see it.” 

“We must be content to other displays of devotion,” Athénaïs assured her, and took her hand and led her to the window. 

Éloi, on the other hand, was completely satisfied. When he turned, he saw that Amaury was waiting for him. They walked out to the garden, leaving their painted selves to be together forever. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my betas, Sath & El!


End file.
